


What You're Doing

by lennons_lemon_queen



Category: The Beatles
Genre: 1970's, M/M, New York City, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennons_lemon_queen/pseuds/lennons_lemon_queen
Summary: New York City is a bustling place with all sorts of people. Of those thousand, one self-proclaimed "failing" poet happens to be knocked clean on his face--literally. His roommate, George, a spiritual health counselor and yoga teacher, warns him that he's falling. But John insists that he is, indeed, not.Even though the bruise on his cheek speaks otherwise.





	1. Chapter 1

_I want to wake up_

_In a city that never sleeps_

_I'm gonna make a brand new start of it_

_Its up to you, New York...._ _New York_

* * *

 

John was woken up by a series of knocks on his bedroom door. 

"Breakfast."  
He opened his eyes to the brightened room around him as the intense early morning sunlight shone in through the windows above his head.  
"Coming," He rubbed at his eyes and tried to have them focus on something, but everything was a blur.  
Sighing, John slipped out of bed straight into his slippers and popped open the door, walking into the little kitchen.  
"Mornin', John." George wore a kind of knowing smirk as he rinsed out a frying pan in the kitchen.  
"Mornin'." John was still asleep. His auburn hair was mused and seemed to sit in a knotted pile on top of his head.  
George dished up a small pile of fried potatoes and vegetables onto their waiting plates and had a seat across from John.  
John was still squinting. He poked at a potato with one of the prongs on his fork and pushed it around.  
"Y'know I don't drink it, but, coffee?" George offered.  
John huffed an airy laugh. "Please,"  
George smiled and stood. He had already made some coffee knowing that John didn't usually wake up as early as he did. They had been living together for almost a year and he still never changed his sleeping pattern to quite catch breakfast. George woke up at five every morning to practice his yoga and meditational skills. He was a teacher down at a local studio. John thought the man was amazing. Definitely inspiring. Which was, the exact opposite of him, he usually thought. But as always, George would tell him _'you've got your own talents.'_  
John sighed as the first swallow of hot coffee invaded his senses. He was starting to wake up now and he ate a forkfull of his breakfast.  
George was looking down at a folded newspaper that lay in the middle of the table. He picked it up off the fence of the apartment this morning. He never particularly liked reading the paper, as it was usually depressing and drab, but he knew John liked to. And more often than not, to read the funnies.  
"Got yer paper." George mumbled, sipping his tea. He pushed a stray lock of brown hair behind his ear that slipped out from the tie he put it up with.  
John smiled. "I see that, thanks." He prodded at it and squinted, tilting his head sideways to read the paper.  
"Ah, yes. Political discourse."  
George snorted and got tea in his beard. Reaching for a napkin, he laughed. "You should know that by now."  
"Yea, but I couldn't give less of a flying arsehole."  
George poked at his potatoes with his fork. "Lovely topic at breakfast, mate."  
John smiled warmly, his eyes squeezing shut in an overly-sweet fashion. "Yer welcome."  
Suddenly, the clock struck seven. George finished his plate off and stood.  
"Yer leavin'?" John asked.  
"You know I am. I'll be back around noon. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone." He pointed at John standing by the door.  
John feigned innocence, mockingly gesturing to himself. "Who, _me_?"  
George frowned and he tossed a balled up napkin across the apartment. "Shove off, you tosser."  
"Love you too, mate!" John yelled as the door closed.  
Suddenly, John was painfully aware he was alone. He could hear the clock ticking on the mantle in the living room even from the kitchen. He looked down at his half-finished breakfast and rested his chin on his fist.  
He never liked being alone. He was sure of that. But he's never found anyone who could put up with him and all of his 'moods', as George so lovingly called them. John was a stubborn arsehole and he knew it. But he craved intimacy. And it annoyed the hell out of him. It wasn't easy for him to try and open up either, being bisexual in the seventies wasn't the best scenario. When him and George first moved in together, they had bonded over their shared hometown. Little foggy Liverpool back in England. John was immediately attracted to him and they had went out for drinks. But George could see right through John, and saw that his plan was more deeply-rooted in something else.  
"You don't want to do this, mate." George told John in the dimly lit club. Their noses were an inch apart and people were dancing all around them.  
"And why not?"  
"Because you don't want me."  
"Bollocks, 'course I do."  
George looked at John seriously and stopped dancing. He put a gentle hand on his shoulder, stopping his movements.  
"You want love, John. You want a connection with someone. Not some quick fuck."  
John's expression fell. He looked as if he'd been slapped. George was right.  
John felt his face burn with embarrassment and George closed the space between them, pressing a gentle kiss on his lips.  
"I want to help you, John. I really do." He whispered between them.  
John nodded and brushed a hand over one of George's angular cheeks.  
"Thank you."  
Two weeks later, they were roommates. George has always looked out for John. And the nights when he'd come home drunk off his ass or high, he's always made sure he's been away from harm.  
They shared a strong bond that John hoped would never break.

Staring into the creamy, swirling surface of his coffee mug, John became vaguely aware of birdsong creeping in through a cracked window.  
He sniffed and gave a loud yawn before getting up, paper tucked under his arm, and walking into the living room. He glanced over at the keyboard set up with the lamp next to it, and the horribly neat sofa that George had probably dusted this morning, catching eye of a little ball of orange and white hair curled up on one of its cushions. John sat next to it, stroking its fur as the little cat's stomach rose and fell with its breathing.  
"Good morning, Red."  
Red meowed, stretching. And when her eyes opened, her paws reached out, clamping onto John's finger.  
"Ow! Stop that!"  
Red meowed and stood on all fours, walking up to John and rubbing herself against his side.  
"Ye big daisy."  
Red meowed again before settling in John's lap, kneading his thigh.  
John sipped his coffee, straining through the pain of little sharp claws poking into his skin. Why did he put up with this? He laughed and shook his head.  
John sat there a while, lost in his own thoughts, until the clock struck eight times. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and hummed.  
"Maybe I should go down to the park."  
Red meowed.  
"Thank you for agreeing. I know you just want to be rid of me, isn't that right?" He scratched behind one of Red's ears and Red purred, nudging further into his palm.  
John scooped the cat up into his arms and headed to his room to get dressed. Central Park had always been his refuge. He loved getting lost in the vastness of it. It was otherworldly, and outstandingly beautiful. It was one of the reasons he loved living in Manhattan. Everything else? Well...  
"Where the hell...?" He looked around the clothes-littered floor for pants. "Ah." John grabbed a crumpled pair of black jeans and a white button-up shirt, stepping into the little bathroom connected to his room.  
He looked at himself in the mirror. He was thoroughly disheveled, his worn pajamas slightly baggy on him as he had lost a lot of weight the past few years. His face was unshaven and stubble overtook his jaw and chin. He rubbed at it thoughtfully. Should he shave? Should he even bother? He knew when he put effort into his appearance George noticed and tried to encourage him. John sighed. He walked back into his room and shoved a cassette into his stereo before padding back into the bathroom.  
He turned on the hot water in the little sink and watched as clouds of steam steadily began to rise and fill the room. An upbeat ballad drifted in much like the steam from the bedroom behind him. The rich timbre of Mama Cass and her band.  
John pulled his hair back with a tie and lathered shaving cream onto his face. It smelt faintly of spice and peaches and the scent was warming and welcoming on a crisp February morning.  
He felt something brush against his left leg and his eyes flickered down to see Red looking up at him.  
"Not now, girl." John guided the blade gently along his jaw, careful not to cut his skin.  
Red circled around John's legs in a figure-eight and John tried not to move in fear of tripping.  
By the time the clock struck eight-thirty, he had finished and slipped on his clothes. He reached into his closet to grab a coat and a light scarf. It was nice outside, not freezing for a change. A comfortable temperature of 59 or 60. A warm spring day.  
He stuffed his wallet and keys into his pockets, slipped on his glasses before finishing off his coffee and kissed little Red's head on his way out.  
_Maybe this morning won't be so bad..._ He thought.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

February mornings in Manhattan were normally frigid. But the air didn't bite at his skin or burn his lungs as John walked with his hands shoved in his pockets down 59th and nodded to a couple vendors he spoke to occasionally as he crossed the street further along the block.   
At first he had been utterly shocked at the volume of people that swarmed the streets, but now he didn't think about it too much at all. He just flowed with the people and went along on his merry way. Some of them shoved or cursed, but he took it in stride.   
When he saw the first glimpse of one of the park's entrances, his mood instantly brightened. The thick foliage of trees overhung the open iron gate as he walked through and the atmosphere around him melted from a bustling city to a treelined oasis. Car horns turned to birdsong and voices turned to a babbling river as he crossed a little bridge over to one of the sidewalks.   
There were young children and parents having breakfast on benches, joggers, people walking their dogs, and a few people meditating as he made his way deeper into the park. It was truly otherworldly.   
A voice that rang deeper along the path caught his ear. It was a woman's voice, and it was very clear and calm as it gave instructions to about thirty brightly-dressed people on rubber yoga mats. The majority of the group were women, but there were a few men sprinkled in. They all looked so at peace and John smiled. He thought of George for a moment, instructing people in his own studio the same way before he turned his head back to the crowd. One of the participants, a man, was in a complicated position. Though his ass was sticking straight up in the air.   
John's eyes grew wide behind his glasses and he kept walking, though the worn toe of his leather boot caught a snag of uneven pavement--and he fell head-first.   
"Shite!"   
He heard low murmurs from the yoga group and the instructor's voice ceased.   
"Oh my god, are you alright?" It was a man's voice.   
John opened his eyes, a dumb smile on his lips as he laughed at his own misfortune. When his vision focused, his heart leapt into his throat.   
It was the ass guy.   
Well, the guy that was connected to the ass. _Fuck, this is embarrassing as shit._  
"I'm fine." John laughed despite himself and sat up. He realized that he didn't feel the pressure of his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and he looked down to see a pile of scattered pieces he assumed used to be the object in question.   
"...fuck."   
"Are you sure? You've got quite a nasty bruise." The man's face was sickeningly youthful despite John assuming he was probably nearly as old as he was, with a clear, rosy complexion stretched over two plump cheeks and wide hazel eyes like a deer in traffic that were currently filled to the brim with concern and distress.   
He felt around his face for any bruises, and he hissed as he found one on his right cheek.   
"Sod the bruises, I broke me glasses."   
"I'm terribly sorry about that." The young man offered a hand to help and John grabbed it. His vision was awfully blurred and people and things looked smeared.   
"Don't worry about it--I'm a klutz."   
The man laughed and shook his head. "Would you like me to pay for them?"   
John was so distracted by the tonality of the man's voice that he hadn't been paying much attention.   
"Pay for what now?"   
"Your glasses?"   
John's eyes went wide in disbelief. Nobody just offers to pay for something in New York City. Something's off.   
"That won't be necessary, but thank you."   
The man was persistent. "Oh, but they're ruined! Just let me cover half of it, then."   
John huffed. He wasn't going to give up, was he? _The bugger._ "Fine." He shook his head and laughed again. "How is it that you're so nice?"   
The man blinked, confused. "Am I supposed to be mean?"   
John chuckled. "Well, look where ye are, mate."   
The man blushed, looking down at the smashed bits of John's glasses he had picked up in his hands. "I'm not from around here."   
"Oh? That explains it. Where then?"   
"Arizona."   
"Wow! Talk about a hop away."   
"Yeah. I came here on holiday with a friend."   
_A friend. Must be some girl. The lucky twat._  
"That's nice."   
The man smiled. "I do like it here. It's a huge change in scenery."   
"I can imagine you get tired of cacti and dirt."   
The man scrunched up his face. "Y'know, Arizona isn't all a huge desert."   
John laughed. "Well, to a man that's never been, it is."   
The man hummed. "You should go sometime."   
John smiled. "Yeah, maybe." He looked down at the man's hand as he pulled a fifty dollar bill out to him.   
"Here."   
John blew out air from pursed lips. "Y'know I feel awful takin' this."   
"Don't."   
John looked at the man genuinely and smiled as he received the money. "Thank you."   
"It isn't a problem. I'm Paul by the way."   
_A quaint name._  
"John."   
"Nice to meet you, John."   
"It's not, really, but thanks."   
Paul laughed and slipped the broken contents of John's glasses into John's open hand. "See ya 'round sometime."   
"Yeah." John smiled and turned to leave, watching Paul jog back over to the continuous yoga session, barefoot. He was wearing a brown blazer and brown suit pants.   
_That's kind of odd. But he was an interesting guy._  
John continued to walk along the path. The glare from the sun was invading his vision now and his smeared environment started to become less defined.   
He stuffed everything into his pockets and decided to head home. George must be there by now. And he didn't want to miss lunch. 

* * *

  
"You actually went out today?" George asked. He was stir-frying vegetables and boiling a pot of soup.   
"Yeah, I did." John sat at the table, picking at a piece of loose wood grain on its surface.  
"That's good. You should do it more often."   
John nodded silently. George walked over and served lunch to both of their waiting plates. He was a vegetarian and ate an active vegetarian's diet. John wasn't a vegetarian. But he wasn't picky either. Though some days, he does crave something with meat in it--he resists. He figured he should get used to it way back when George and he moved in together.   
John stabbed a piece of carrot with his fork.   
"...Are these shits actually good for your eyesight, or do they just tell ye that?"   
George chuckled as he ate a forkfull of his stir fry. "Yes."   
John stopped, set his fork down, and squinted. "Yes to which one?"   
George almost choked on his food when he snorted. "Yes, they're good for your eyesight!"   
John nodded and ate the measly piece from his utensil. "Good."   
George glanced over occasionally throughout their meal. Sometimes he worried over how little John would eat. Some days he had a startling appetite, but most days he ate like a finicky bird. He did notice, however, that sometimes the refrigerated leftovers would disappear by morning.  
"How about tomorrow I make some of your favorite potato soup, yeah?" George offered.   
John tried to appear calm, but his excitement did bubble through to the surface a bit. "Sure."   
George smiled warmly. "It's a deal then." He stood up to wash his plate. "So, what did you do out in town today?"   
John almost choked on his water. "Erm, I went for a walk in the park."   
"Oh?" George heard the strain in his voice.   
"Yeah. It was nice."   
Silence.   
"Anything interesting?" George dried the plate off and stuck it in the cabinet.   
John stared into his half-eaten plate. "No. Not really."  
George knew something had happened, but he didn't know what.   
John stood up to wash his plate, and as he turned, George gasped.   
"What's that?!"   
John turned red. "What?"   
" _That_!" George pointed to the large purple bruise on John's right cheekbone.   
John laughed nervously. "Oh, _that_."   
"Yeah, that. You better spill, Lennon."   
"Easy, Harrison. We don't need to bring last names into this."   
"Did you get into a fight?"   
John grinned. "Yes. With the concrete in Central Park."   
George's eyes widened. "Oh. You fell? Are you alright? You didn't break anything, did you?"   
John rolled his eyes. " _Mom_ ," He starred sarcastically. "If I broke anything--you would bloody well know."   
George sighed. "I was only concerned for your health."   
"And I'm telling ya, I'm fine."   
George nodded and sat down on the couch in the living room. He flicked on the TV and John dropped onto the couch next to him.   
The screen was barely visible to John. It looked like a glowing square with fuzzy colorful shapes moving on it. And, even though most of the time, he interpreted it as not much more than that anyway--he was frustrated. So, he closed his eyes.   
"Ye takin' a nap?" George asked John as he felt the weight of his friend's head on his shoulder.   
"Yea." John mumbled.   
"Can't say I blame you," George smirked. "I hear falling on yer face is tiring."   
John sat up, blushing furiously. "You fuck."   
George laughed and clutched at his sides. "I'm sorry, Johnny, but it is kinda funny."   
John drew his knees up under his chin and buried his face in his arms.   
George pulled at the cocoon that was his roommate. "Aww, c'mon, don't be like this..."   
"Sorry, can't hear ye! Must've damaged my hearing!"   
"Don't make me tickle you."   
"Sorry, darling, what?!" John shouted.   
George leaned in and started tickling John's sides and John howled, falling off the couch.   
"My, my. So off-balance today."   
"Stuff it."   
George looked down at his pants. "I've no need for that, really. It's all natural."   
John smashed a pillow straight into George's face and George grabbed one too, defending himself. They began to bash at each other.   
"Is that all you've got, ye sod?!" John yelled.   
"No!" George whacked at John again, toppling him over.   
"Shite!"   
"So, did ye just trip, or what?"   
"What are you talking about?"   
"When you fell?"   
"Jesus, can't ya just let it go?!"   
"No."   
"Yes, I tripped."   
"How come?"   
"Do ye want a diagram, professor?"   
George tickled John again and his laughter was manic. "Please! Stop!"   
"I will when ya tell me what you're hiding."   
"I'm! Not hiding! Anything!"   
"Liar! You were silent all through lunch with a stupid look on yer face, I've seen that look before!"   
"What?! Pain? Humiliation? Gas?"   
George snorted a laugh. "No! What made you fall? It has to be something really bad for you not to tell me straightaway."   
John rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. If he didn't say it now, he'd never hear the end of it. George could be a nosy fucker sometimes... "SOME BLOKE HAD HIS ARSE STICKIN' UP IN THE AIR IN ONE OF THOSE YOGA CLASSES AND I LOOKED, TRIPPED, AND FELL ON ME FACE! THERE. HAPPY?!"   
George's face fell. But after a moment of tense silence between them on the living room carpet, a giggle broke out of him. And soon enough, he was doubled over, clutching his sides again in laughter.   
John laughed too, but it was a more exhausted chuckle.   
"I! I can't believe it! Ahaha!"   
"Sod off, it's not that funny."   
"Yes it is!" George hugged John from the side, his face messily pressed against his friend's cheek. "You poor thing!"   
George got his laughter under control and he relaxed. John couldn't look at him so he watched the relentlessly ticking clock on top of the TV set.   
"Was it someone you knew?"   
John shook his head. "No."   
"Did anyone see you fall?"   
"The whole damn world, probably. I think it was televised."   
George rolled his eyes. "Really, now."   
"The class saw, and the guy came over to me and helped me up."   
"Aww, how sweet!"   
John rolled his eyes now. "Yes, how sweet."   
"Did he say anything?"   
"God, what is with you?! We're not high school girls, mate!"   
"I'm just curious!"   
"You're too curious, if ye ask me."   
"Please, Johnny."   
"Ugh, fine! He wanted to pay for my glasses because apparently, when I fell I smashed them to bits. I told him I wouldn't have it, but he was insistent, the bastard."   
"Uh huh."   
"He says he's all the way from bleedin' Arizona, and apparently it isn't all desert and armadillos out there."   
"Yeah. Didn't you know?" George turned to John.   
"Didn't I know what?"   
"It's actually filled with cute guys."   
John punched George in the arm and George collapsed again on the carpet, laughing.   
"If you're just gonna laugh at me, I'm goin' ta bed."   
"It's three in the afternoon, John!"   
"I know what time it is!"   
"So, was that all?"   
John stayed quiet a moment. "...He gave me fifty dollars to cover half of it."   
George's eyes were wide. "Wow."   
"Yeah."  
For a moment they just sat there on the floor, their pillows discarded haphazardly around them.   
John reached into his coat pocket, dumping its contents out on the floor.   
"That's all that's left o' me glasses."   
George looked at the sad pile of snapped metal and plastic. He did notice, however, a small folded up piece of yellow paper. It was so neatly folded into a square--like a little piece of origami.   
"What's that?"   
"What?"   
John sifted through the remains of his specs and found the piece of paper. His heart stopped.   
"I-I dunno, probably some half-arsed grocery list I made and folded up into bits when I was nervous."   
George furrowed his brows, squinting. "That's too neat to be you, mate."   
John frowned. "Thanks."   
"Open it."   
"I'm not gonna open it!"   
"If you don't, I will."   
"Fucking hell!" John snatched it off the floor and unfolded the little thing. On it, someone had scribbled something, but he couldn't make it out.   
"I can't read it."   
"Here. Let me see."   
"No!"   
"John! C'mon! You're blind as a bat!"   
John threw the paper at George angrily, but it fluttered and made a loop into the carpet instead.   
George took it carefully and his face grew red as he studied the little note. It was a business card that had been folded.

 _1(505) 555-5555_  
Paul McCartney  
Photographer • Birthdays • Weddings• Any Occasion  
134 W. Comet Dr.  
Tuscan, Arizona

"Shite, mate. It's his card."   
"What?!" John scrambled closer to George.   
George turned to John with a knowing smile and when John noticed, he scowled.   
"Don't you go lookin' at me like that!"   
"You like 'em, don't ya?"   
John huffed. "How can I like 'em?! All I saw was his arse! I'm blind as a bat, remember?"   
"You must've seen somethin other than that, or he wouldn't have wanted to give you this."   
"I'm goin ta my room." John snatched the bent business card and stormed out.   
"I love ye, Johnny boy--ye big softy!" George yelled.   
"Fuck off!" John's yelled reply was muffled.   
George sat there still on the carpet, a blissful smile plastered to his face.   
_This should be fun...._


	3. Chapter 3

John laid on his bed, staring up at the little bent business card. It looks like it had been in someone's pocket a long time before he had ever held it. And quite possibly, originally bent by yoga.  
The kindness he saw in Paul's eyes had been unlike that of any stranger he had ever bumped into in the city. It warmed his heart, but it also scared him. Could people actually be this nice? He set the piece of card stock on his nightstand and stared blankly at the wall covered in various pieces of artwork in black frames. His attention was snagged by Red as she meowed from the floor. John sat up and looked down at her.  
"Yes?"  
Red pawed at the corner of a blanket that dangled from the bed and John reached down to pick her up.  
The sun was low in the sky and it had just started to set. John stood up to turn on his lamp and he laid back down with Red curled up against one of his arms.  
A knock sounded at his door.  
"I'll have dinner in about a half hour!" George yelled.  
John pet Red and bit at the skin of his bottom lip. "I think I'll pass."  
He heard the floor creak from George's hesitant footsteps. "You sure?"  
"Yeah."  
"...Okay."  
John took out the cassette from earlier that morning and put in another, pressing the play tab in on his stereo. He closed his eyes.

It was hot. That was the first thing he noticed. Hot and dry.  
John blinked, observing his surroundings with a feverish interest.  
"Where-where am I?"  
George passed John riding an Appaloosa stallion wearing a cowboy hat. "Arizona."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah, mate."  
John looked out at the landscape before him. It looked like an old western movie set. He walked around, looking at all the other cowboys lounging around, some of them drinking out of jugs.  
"Who in _blazes_ are you?" One of the men squinted at him.  
John looked down, he was in his usual shirt and blazer with dress trousers. He definitely stood out.  
"Erm--John Lennon. I'm a poet, from Manhattan."  
The cowboy wheezed a laugh before turning to his buddies behind him in front of the saloon.  
"Did ye hear that, a poet!"  
The gang of cowboys hooted in riotous laughter.  
"It's-it's a serious job!" John insisted.  
The cowboy wiped at a tear spilling from the corner of his eye. "Well, 'round here it sure ain't! If ye can wrestle a cow with yer bare hands, then I'll talk to ya!"  
John stuttered. "W-What about Paul? He's a photographer!"  
The cowboy smiled, shaking his head. "The finest in the land, too." He looked off into the distance as if in reverence before turning back to face John seriously. "But I wouldn't play no two-timing games with that boy. No, sir. He could strangle ye bare 'fore ye even get out a word."  
John gulped. "W-What?"  
"Ah, don't stress about it son. If yer serious about 'em, he won't get ya."  
"What do you mean 'if I'm serious about him'?!"  
The cowboy snorted. "That's what this is all about, partner! Ya like 'im don't ya?"  
The cowboy's posse broke out into laughter again. John could feel the heat in his cheeks.  
Colors were swarming all around him and he was engulfed in a haze of confusion. And suddenly, he felt something cold touch his head.

"Geo?" John opened his eyes weakly.  
George's familiar features swam into vision in front of John. He was dabbing at his forehead with a washcloth.  
"What's all this?"  
George sighed. "I came in to check on you and you were sweating. Turns out, you were running a temperature."  
"But I feel fine."  
George looked knowingly at John. "What have you eaten today?"  
"I've eaten plenty today."  
"What about the rest of the week?"  
John went silent. He had skipped out at least two days this week. It was Monday again now as he saw twelve midnight on his clock.  
"Thought so." George sat on the corner of John's bed, and when he saw John cover his face with his hands he knew what was to come.  
Tears wracked the slender frame of his friend and he wrapped an arm around him.  
"Why do you do this to yourself, mate?"  
John tried to form coherent sentences but they wouldn't come out.  
"I--I..."  
George shushed him gently. "It's okay. You know you can tell me anything."  
John raised his head from his hands and looked down at the floor. "...I used to be fat."  
George raised an eyebrow.  
"Well, I mean, I used to be _called_ fat. At the time I never thought I was, but apparently I was."  
"Are you sure it wasn't just their rude comments that made you think that way?"  
John bit his lip. "...I don't know, now. It was too long ago."  
George hugged John to him and patted his messy auburn hair.  
"You're going to make yerself sick, dear."  
"I know, but I can't get past this stupid mental complex."  
"It's not stupid. I mean, whatever you've been led to believe has truly affected you."  
John sniffed.  
"Ye can use my shirtsleeve as a tissue paper if ya want."  
John laughed as his tears stopped streaming. "That won't be necessary, but thanks."  
George looked over at Red curled up at the foot of John's bed. There was laundry piled in a corner and his desk looked the same as it did two weeks ago.  
"Have ya done any writing at all?" He asked gently.  
John sighed. "Not a word in weeks. I just haven't had the inspiration."  
_But I've been feeling something since this morning..._  
"What do you suppose it is?"  
_It's something overwhelming..._  
"I dunno. Stress, maybe?"  
_Something **tangible**. Something..._  
"Maybe if you ate something you'd feel better."  
_Something **warm**. Something...  
_ "Maybe."  
"And John?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Give Paul a call tomorrow."  
_Something about that man._  
John's heart leapt to his throat. "...Fine."  
George's smile was sickeningly sweet. Like melted taffy. It made John blush that he had finally given in to the fact that he actually wanted to communicate with someone other than George or some acquaintance in town. Someone he might just be beginning to care for.  
"I'll dish up your food and bring it to you." George still smiled as he walked out.  
John sighed, changing into pajamas. He looked over at his desk at all of the scattered papers and pieces of odd things strewn about.  
Words were coming to him. In an amount he hadn't had in months. Suddenly he was filled with images and sensations that his hands itched to transfer to words.  
Before he was aware of it, he had grabbed a piece of paper and laid down on his stomach on the bed.  
And then the words flowed.  
George paused in the doorway, watching John write. His lip quivered and soon a tear slid down his cheek.  
His smile was wider than ever.  
John heard George's footsteps and turned.  
"What're you crying about, ye great pansy?"  
George handed John his plate and sniffed, rubbing at his tears. "You just--You need this so much, y'know?"  
"What? Food?" John laughed.  
George laughed too. "Well, other than that. Writing. I see how much it helps you. And drawing too, I know you don't think you're any good but you're really great. It may not be realism but it's bloody brilliant."  
John smiled and wrapped his spare arm around George.  
"It's alright, Geo. I know."  
George sniffed again. "And now you've met someone! Oh I just--it's so wonderful."  
John sighed and shook his head. "Calm down, mom. I'm not rushing off to get married and leave you with dad yet."  
George laughed and sat up, wiping his face. John ate a forkfull of baked beans and rice.  
"I'll leave you to it, then." George said.  
John smiled warmly at him. "Thank you." He hoped the sincerity in his voice carried through, and by the size of the smile that followed on his friend's face--it certainly did.  
John looked over at the page he had filled halfway.

 _Shining, smiling, unforgettable boy  
Don't you realize what you've done?  
Beautiful, warm, unforgettable boy  
You take life's moments and turn them to art  
I'd say I do the same if I could ever get one to start.  
Loving, sparkling, exuberant boy_  
_I'm so scared but I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel it in my heart._

John finished his plate of food and set it on the nightstand along with his journal and laid down, looking up at the ceiling.  
For once, insomnia didn't pick at his brain and he was able to drift peacefully.  
~~~~

* * *

~~~~  
"I swear to god Paul if you don't do it, I will." Brian reached for the phone receiver that Paul clutched like a python in his hands.  
"No!"  
It was 2 AM.  
"Why the fuck not?"  
"Because it's too early, for god's sake! What kind of person would be awake at this hour?!"  
Brian raised his brows. "Us."  
Paul sagged, slumping as he set the phone back onto the bed. "You're right."  
Paul had found John in the phone book of all places. It was purely by accident, or at least that's what he would tell anybody who dared to ask.  
Brian sighed. "Let's just wait until morning."  
Brian was one of Paul's closest friends from back home, well, next to Ringo anyways.  
"Thank you! Dear lord!"  
"I didn't know you were religious."  
"Shut up, Brian."  
Paul moved the phone back over to its usual spot on the hotel counter. He laid back onto the bed with a groan, the springs squeaking throughout the small room.  
"We should probably get to bed, yeah?" Brian asked.  
"Gee, y'think?"  
"Alright, no need to get snippy with me. You've been chewing at my ass all night. First you tell me you meet some gorgeous British dude who got to second base with the ground and then you tell me you don't want to call him!"  
"He didn't seem interested!"  
"Didn't seem interested! Have you looked in a mirror lately, hun?"  
Paul blushed. "...I left him my last business card when I handed him his glasses back."  
" _What was left_ of his glasses." Brian corrected.  
"Right."  
There was a pause.  
"What kind of glasses were they?"  
"Broken."  
Brian flicked Paul's cheek.  
"Ow!"  
"That's not what I meant!"  
"Why does it matter?"  
"I'm trying to picture him in my mind. So far he looks like a British flag with hair. Help me out, here."  
Paul rolled his eyes. "He's about an inch shorter than me."  
"Yeah."  
"With this sort of, wild brownish red hair."  
"Ooo, uh huh."  
"An' he's got a lovely face shape, really sort of defined around the nose and jaw. And though he's odd about eye contact, his eyes are a sort of caramel color."  
"You went photographer on me. Except for that last bit, about the caramel. He sounds beautiful, though."  
Paul got under the covers of the bed and flicked off the lamp.  
"He is, really. Something about him. I dunno what it is."  
Brian smiled and gave a soft laugh. "He's got you, hasn't he?"  
"...Maybe."  
"You naughty boy, McCartney--we're on vacation! Not a dating trip! Or do you just wanna bang 'em?"  
"Shut up! I'm goin' to bed."  
"Sweet dreams, princess."  
"I _will_ kick you, Brian."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, life has been everywhere as of lately but I was so happy when I finally sat my ass down and kept writing this piece!!!! Hope you guys like it. <3 Log

The sun rose high over the tops of the apartment buildings and snuck in through a crack in John's drapes the following morning. He opened one eye cautiously, squinting at the bright light that filled the room.  
"Breakfast!" He heard George yell as his door was knocked on.  
"I know!"  
John sat up in bed, his covers a tangled mess. Slipping his slippers on, he shuffled sleepily into the kitchen. He wasn't aware of it, but his hair stood straight up in the back where he had slept on it. He sipped his coffee as usual.  
George giggled as he sat at the table and served them from the pan on the table.  
"You get good reception, mate?"  
John blinked slowly, squinting at his friend. "...What?"  
George covered his grin with his hand and poked at the contents of his plate with his fork. "Your hair, it's quite--excited."  
John looked at the window beside him and caught a glance of his reflection. He saw the tall ducktail on the back of his head and huffed.  
"Shove off." He tried to smooth it out with his hand.  
George laughed. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist."  
"'S fine." John started on his breakfast.  
George looked as if he had something to say by the way he squirmed in his seat and fidgeted with his food.  
"What's the matter? Did I forget my pants?"  
George snorted a laugh. "No."  
"Then spit it out!"  
"There was a missed call on the answering machine this morning."  
John froze. "...And?"  
George looked down at the table. "And, it was from a hotel."  
John made a 'go on' motion with his hand.  
"There was a two-minute message, but I couldn't make any sense of it. It was just giggling and stuff being bumped into. The only words I could make out were 'No!' And 'why don't you do it, then?!'"  
John's eyes were wide as he focused blankly on the newspaper before him on the table.  
"Oh." He cleared his throat and rolled his eyes. "Is that all, then?"  
"...No."  
"For god's sake man, spit it out!"  
"I heard a name."  
"Well?"  
"'Paul.'"  
Oh my god.  
"He called here?"  
"Apparently so. But I don't think he knows that."  
John paused a moment in thought.  
"I think you should call him." George said simply.  
"Haven't we already gone through this? I thought I was going to."  
"It's changed now?"  
"I-I dunno."  
"I don't think you'd regret it."  
John laid his head down on the table.  
"Get up, you're goin' ta get hair in me food!"  
John groaned and sat back up, he looked at the phone mounted on the wall near his head and he could feel George looking at him.  
"Do ya mind a tad?"  
George cleared his throat. "N-No. Not at all." He shoveled the last of his food.  
John stood and unhooked the receiver. He dialed the number that he remembered from Paul's card and waited.  
One...  
Two...  
Three...  
Click  
"Hello?"  
"Erm, hi." John looked behind him to see George staring again and he walked into the laundry room and pulled the door to, the phone cord hanging out.  
"Who is this?" Paul asked. His voice was soft and sort of low. Like someone who had just been roused from sleep.  
"It's er, John. From the park." John swore he heard something fall and break. "What was--are you okay?"  
"Oh yeah, yeah." Paul laughed nervously. "'Course."  
"Okay, er, I was just wondering if maybe--I was going to get my glasses today. But if you wanted to tag along I could pay for lunch for you afterward." John heard giggling in the background and the sound of it being forcefully muffled.  
"S-Sure. Sounds great. Where do you want to meet?" Paul shoved the receiver away from his mouth and covered it with his hand. "Brian! I will not hesitate to smother you!"  
"Is everything okay?" John tried not to laugh.  
Paul giggled again. "Yes."  
"Okay then. Meet me on the corner of 49th and Towne."  
There was a pause where John assumed Paul should've hung up.  
"You still there?"  
Paul hesitated. "Yes."  
"Everything alright?"  
"Uh...Where is--Where is that exactly?"  
John laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry! There's a large antique lamppost and an optometry building across from it. It's pretty hard to miss."  
"Right. Okay."  
"I'll see you there."  
"Goodbye."

* * *

  
Paul smacked Brian's face with the pillow.  
"Can't you let me have a phone call in peace?!"  
"Not when it's some hot guy."  
"Why don't you go out and get your own?!"  
"I can't."  
"And why's that?"  
"Because I can't do yoga in public as good as you."  
Paul kicked Brian in the shin. "I'm going to get dressed."

* * *

  
John looked at himself in the mirror. He was picking at a couple of blemishes in his skin when George snuck up in front of him from the kitchen.  
John jumped, skidding across the floor in his house slippers.  
"What the fuck?"  
George laughed. "Calm down, it's only me."  
"Yeah, you n' your silent arse footsteps. One day you're gonna give me a heart attack."  
George chuckled. "Oh, I don't believe that."  
John rolled his eyes. "So, what do you want? I'm trying to get ready."  
"It looks like you're stalling."  
John puffed air out from pursed lips and laughed. "Am not."  
"Mate," George glanced up at the wooden clock ticking on the little bathroom wall. "you called Paul a half hour ago. For all you know, he's already left."  
John's pulse raced suddenly and he rubbed his face with his hands. "Shit. Geo, I dunno what to do."  
"I think you should put some clothes on and get the hell outta here."  
John looked up. "Well that's not very nice."  
"In the long-term situation of things, I think it is. Now go!"  
John groaned and turned around, grabbing a shirt and a pair of pants from the pile in the corner and started getting dressed.  
He was going to have to hurry to catch Paul's attention.

* * *

  
_Where the hell is he?!  
I put pants on and went outside for this guy. Jesus Christ.  
Oh wait--Oh no. Never mind! I change my mind! Shit, fuck.  
What if I just faked my death, moved to Oregon, and started a new life with sixteen cats--_  
"Hello," John smiled pleasantly as he saw Paul approaching, quite out of breath.  
"Hello." Paul stopped, putting his hands on his thighs as he doubled over, panting. "I..."  
"Are you okay, mate?"  
Paul held up a finger. "I...was waiting..." He coughed. "...at the wrong...street corner."  
John's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm so sorry."  
Paul stood up straight and collected himself. "Don't be. It's okay."  
John smiled. His heart was going too fast already and he couldn't look directly at Paul. Not right now. He feared he would become a babbling idiot or not be able to say anything at all. He started walking towards his optometrist's building.

"I didn't know you called me until my roommate told me something."  
Paul's eyes went from above average size to dinner plates. John saw the blood drain from his rosy cheeks. "...W-What?"  
John stopped on the corner of the block, hands in his pockets. "Yeah. Kinda early in the morning too, if I do say so myself."  
Paul looked despaired. "Oh...Oh no..." he muttered incoherently to himself.  
John put a hand on Paul's shoulder gingerly. "Are...you okay?"  
"Yeah, yeah. I'm swell." Paul wanted to curl up and die in the nearest pothole.  
"No you're not. Quit the fake shite, just tell me. I'm already out here at the crack o' dawn anyroad."  
"...It's almost noon."  
"I know what time it is."  
Paul laughed, his rosy complexion slipping back into his skin. "Alright, I'll tell you."  
John cocked a brow.  
"I was talking to my friend last night about you. And they were trying to find a way for me to call you. So we looked in the phone book and..."  
"You saw my lame arse ad. Ok."  
"And I dialed the number, but I wasn't gonna call it, y'know? So I just tried to wrestle the phone away from 'em the whole time and apparently I must've dialed."  
John laughed. "Wow." He opened the door and let Paul inside first. "And at two in the morning too, that's no time for a respectable young lady to be up gossiping." He waggled his finger at Paul as he walked inside.  
"Shut up." Paul was blushing furiously.  
John wasn't about to say anything about it being unnecessarily cute, either.  
"Can do." He checked in at the front desk before having a seat next to Paul in the waiting area. Leaning onto the shoulder of his tweed jacket playfully, he spoke.  
"Isn't this romantic?"

Someone coughed and another flipped through this week's edition of Glasses Monthly, or whatever the hell kind of magazines they had in here.  
Paul shook his head, stifling his snort. "How ever did you manage to find the place, Harold? It's so posh. A bit too much if you ask me, but I suppose I could be spoiled every now and then." He faked a woman's British accent and John giggled.

"Only the best for my girl." He patted Paul's knee and Paul smacked John playfully on the shoulder.

When John looked up briefly at the woman sitting across from him reading the magazine, her eyes were wide and slightly judging at the scene before her, as John's hand was still on Paul's knee.

John was paralyzed and suddenly all of his blood rushed to his face.  
Paul gently covered John's hand in his own, lifting it slowly from his leg back over to John's own lap.  
John's hand seemed to hum from the brief warmth transferred to his skin and he sat there a moment in shock.  
"Lennon?" A woman in a white doctor's coat called for him. John stood a little too fast for his own taste and scurried over.

"And will he be accompanying you?" The woman asked.  
John looked behind him and jumped to see Paul standing there. "Erm," He wasn't sure if he would even want to. This whole thing was sort of drab anyway, and he had every right to just get up and--  
"Yes." Paul answered with a smile.  
"Okay, then, right this way." She led them down into the maze of rooms and desks that was the optometrist's workspace.  
"So, how long have you been an optometrist?" John asked her as they turned a corner.  
"I'm not." She responded flatly.  
John cleared his throat. "Oh."  
The clerk opened a door on their left and gestured inside. "The optometrist will be with you shortly."  
"Thank you." Paul said. He walked inside with John and she closed the door behind her.  
John sat silently on the stool in front of the enormous magnification machine, when he suddenly heard Paul break up into laughter.  
John laughed a bit too, nervously. "What?"  
"It's just--" Paul doubled over a bit in his chair. "It's so funny."  
"What is? I assume you'd be used to me face by now."  
"No! The clerk. And you." He tried to calm his giggling down by covering his mouth.  
"Ah, that." John smiled. "Yeah, I haven't had much luck with women lately. If you couldn't already guess."  
Paul shook his head. "You're a charmer. Some people just don't get your sense of humor is all."  
"Wow, it's like, you totally get me." John mused with a fake Californian accent.  
Paul snorted and shook his head. "I do, actually."  
...That's what I'm afraid of.  
A couple sharp little knocks at the door informed John that his doctor was here.  
"Come in!"  
"Hello, John. How are you today?"  
"Doin good, 'cept for a bit of a sore throat, you think you can check it out?"  
Dr. Ashton laughed. "I'm afraid I only do eyes."  
"Damn."  
Dr. Ashton had a seat on his stool and wheeled closer to where John was sitting. He did a double-take and saw Paul, smiling pleasantly.  
"Oh, hello! Are you a friend of John's? A relative?"  
"I'm accompanying him today, yeah. But we're not related, I'm afraid."  
"What a shame, he's a great guy."  
John rolled his eyes. "I'm still in the room y'know."  
Dr. Ashton laughed and moved the machine up to John's face. "Okay, so you know the drill. Just tell me which selection looks better."  
"Okay."  
Dr. Ashton flipped the lights off and turned the chart projection on across the room. John was squinting through the machine.  
"This one..." He mumbled as the slide changed.  
"Okay..."  
"This one...wait--no--this one."  
"Which 'this one'?"  
"Well, the one that wasn't that that one, but this this one, that one."  
"Mr. Lennon, can you clarify that? At least a bit."  
John laughed. "The latter."  
"Thank you."  
John heard Paul laugh and he peeked from the corner of the lenses over his eye and made a face in his direction.  
John saw Paul cover his mouth in an attempt to muffle his laughter and he grinned widely.  
"Shall we continue?" Dr. Ashton asked.  
John blushed, clearing his throat. "Erm, yes."

* * *

  
John walked briskly across the street with Paul beside him to avoid traffic. He subtlety offered his arm, stretching it out a bit wider than usual and Paul glanced over quickly and smiled, his cheeks coloring before he slipped his hand on the underside of the back of John's elbow. Just concealed enough that people passing by wouldn't be able to take note--unless they looked back, that was.  
"You flatter me." Paul laughed.  
"As I said, only the best for my girl."  
"You asshole, if you haven't noticed--I _do_ have a dick, y'know."  
"Do ye now? Care to tell me about that?"  
Paul elbowed John and John howled in a mixture of laughter and pain.  
"Here, there's a nice restaurant up here on Bridge Street." John gestured with his chin ahead in the distance.  
Paul smiled and kept walking, enjoying the way their footfalls fell in sync as they seemed to glide through the city--other people on the street seeming irrelevant or almost blurred in comparison. Paul suddenly wondered how bad John's eyesight truly was, or if he even saw anything other than him more than a swish of color anyway.  
The thought was endearing, but it worried him a bit.  
"John,"  
"Yes?"  
"You _can_ see, right?"  
"I'm not blind, if you haven't noticed, I haven't ran us into anybody yet or slammed us into walls."  
Paul snorted. "I have noticed. It's quite impressive, considering your prescription."  
John scowled. "I've learned to manage."  
Paul placed a gentle hand on John's upper back. "I know, I'm only teasing."  
John tensed a moment, blushing. "R-Right."  
Paul was intrigued. He saw moments of utter boldness in John, but sometimes that surface personality seemed to fade into a much calmer, more concerned version of him. He tried not to analyze his actions and just took them for what they were--sincere and meaningful.  
John stopped in front of a little building with a red fabric overhang.  
"Voila."  
Paul huffed a laugh. "Looks promising."  
John batted his eyelashes and held open the door and Paul walked through, but he would never admit to the blush creeping up his cheeks.  
It was a little family-run bistro with plants everywhere and homely dim lighting.  
"Welcome, what can I get you?" The cashier asked.  
John smiled. "I'll have the potato soup."  
"And for you?" The cashier turned to Paul.  
"A salad's fine."  
"Are you sure?" John asked.  
Paul nodded. "Yeah."  
"Okay then, it'll be ready in a few minutes. Did you want to eat here or take it with you?"  
"I'll take it with me." John turned to Paul. "I hope you don't mind."  
Paul shook his head. "No, not at all."  
"Okay then," The cashier disappeared into the kitchen behind her.  
Paul stepped aside with John and smiled at him.  
"What?"  
"Nothing. Can't I smile at you?"  
John shook his head, laughing. "You sure, son? Smiling's more of a second date kind of thing, don't ye think?"  
Paul punched John in the shoulder playfully. "Ass."  
"Why thank you. I'm quite proud of it."  
Paul rolled his eyes.  
"Order number twenty seven?" The cashier called.  
John stepped forward and took their food, paying before they left.  
As they headed back out into the cool, windy air of the city, Paul became increasingly curious of what John had planned.  
"Where are we going?"  
John smiled. "Somewhere."  
"Uh huh. And where's that?"  
"Between there and anywhere."  
"Thanks. I would've never figured that out."  
"You're welcome." John turned a corner and recognized the tops of the gates to Central Park. He walked in the East entrance and began walking along the dirt trail that led to one of his favorite bridges.  
"How appropriate." Paul commented.  
"What?"  
"Oh, y'know. Meeting up again at the same place we met. 'S a very romantic thing to do."  
"Or lazy." John corrected. "I'm not very creative, you know."  
"I think you're exactly the opposite." Paul smiled widely. "You're a big softie."  
John shushed Paul loudly. "Don't let anyone hear you! I have a reputation to keep!"  
"As what? The looney who walks through the park every day?"  
John snorted. "Every other day."  
"Right, right...My mistake." Paul shook his head, grinning.  
"Take yer damn salad." John giggled and pushed the bag into Paul's arms.  
Paul took the salad out of the bag and passed it back to John, who had already removed his soup. So he tossed the bag into a trash can.  
"Let's find a bench."  
"I actually quite like walking and eating hot soup. I think it's fun."  
"I think you're too sarcastic for your own good."  
"Maybe that's why we get along."  
"Maybe you're right."  
The pair settled on a bench and watched the distant passerby. Birds chirped and flew over their heads and squirrels bounced from tree branch to tree branch.  
"I can see why you like it here." Paul said, breaking the silence.  
John raised a brow.  
"Why?"  
"Because it's peaceful. It's the same reason why I come here."  
"Aside from your yoga class, right?"  
Paul laughed nervously. "Yea."  
They sat there a while and ate their food, engaging in casual banter. After a few minutes, John pointed out a goose landing in the lake across the trail and they began to count the ones that flew by overhead. The sound of a loud clock striking 3:00 brought them out of their daze.  
John looked at Paul intently, his eyes sliding down from the man's hazel eyes to the plush flesh of his pink lips.  
Paul closed the distance between them and their mouths interlocked swiftly, a quiet, gentle exploration.  
Paul could feel the whisper of John's lashes against his cheek as he inclined his head and he fingered his soft hair.  
When John pulled apart, he looked at Paul in amazement.  
"What?" Paul asked.  
John shook his head. "I-I didn't intend to do that."  
Paul smiled. "Then I don't intend to do this, either." He pulled John in by his collar, swallowing his little gasp as their mouths met again.  
"You're a damn good kisser..." Paul managed between breaths.  
John smiled against Paul's lips. "'S the only thing I've got goin' fer me. It's a shame, really. I've always wanted to be a tap dancer on Broadway."  
Paul pulled away. "Wait--really?"  
John howled into hysterical laughter. "No!"  
Paul laughed and shoved John clear off the bench into a bush.  
"Oh shit! I'm sorry!"  
John struggled to hoist himself out of the spiney mess. "'S fine."  
"You're quite light, y'know."  
"Yea, I know. A good breeze could do me in."  
"Here, let me help you."  
Paul offered John a hand and pulled him out of the bush.  
"It seems I'm always getting hurt around you." John mused.  
"Ah, but I'm always here to help you up, aren't I?" Paul asked.  
John huffed a laugh. "Yeah, I guess." He looked toward the west to see the pinkish sun gleaming in the distance. "I should be getting back, my roommate will be thinking I've gone and tossed myself off a bridge."  
"Well if that isn't morbid..."  
"It was only an expression of my humor."  
"You must be fun at parties."  
"Only when I'm drunk."  
"Well, I guess this is where we go our separate ways again." Paul smiled kind of sadly.  
"Oh, don't be such a pussy. I'll probably end up meeting you tomorrow for lunch."  
Paul laughed. "You're probably right."  
John stopped a moment in thought.  
"What's the matter?"  
"Well, I was just thinking--maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to introduce you to him."  
"Your roommate?"  
"No, the Great and Powerful Oz."  
"Ah. So this is the same man, then."  
"Man, giant floaty green 'ead. Yeah."  
"Then let's get to it, before we get swept up by a twister."  
John smiled and began to walk out of the park with Paul.  
"Say,"  
"Hmm?"  
"You ever get twisters in Arizona?"  
"I _will_ cancel tomorrow's lunch."  
"Sorry."

* * *

  
John slipped his key into the lock and turned the knob, stepping inside the apartment.  
"Honey, I'm home." He announced sarcastically, taking off his jacket.  
When he turned his head, he dropped it promptly onto the floor. George was in the kitchen, against the stove, another man in his arms pressed against him, they froze in shock, the man's mouth against George's cheek.  
"...Hi." George announced quietly.  
"Hi." John responded, picking up his jacket. "Apparently this is, a bad time..."  
George grabbed the man's hand and gently led him aside. "No, wait--"  
John raised a brow.  
"John, this is Klaus." George gestured to the tall, dark-haired man standing next to him.  
"Hi," Klaus gingerly shook John's hand.  
John smiled politely, turning to see Paul standing on the threshold of the door.  
"You can step in, I don't bite." George joked to Paul.  
Paul smiled nervously and walked inside, closing the door behind him.  
"Sorry, I just felt like I was intruding."  
George laughed. "It's fine. I should've kept better track of the time."  
Paul offered George his hand, but George pulled him in for a hug instead.  
"It's nice to get to meet you, Paul. You're a very special person."  
Paul giggled. "Are you a guidance counselor or something? I'm quite aware that I'm special and that I'm important to the order of the universe."  
George laughed as he pulled away, patting Paul on the shoulder. His white teeth flashing in contrast to his semi-tanned skin. "Well, maybe a spiritual one. But that's not why I told you those things."  
"Oh."  
"I haven't seen John this happy in a long time."  
"Yeah yeah, we get it." John flicked George on the arm and he passed Klaus.  
"Keep an eye out, son. Geo's a kicker in the sack."  
George pushed John. "Shove off, you tosser!"  
"I don't er... I don't speak British." Klaus said jokingly.  
"Don't worry, you're not alone." Paul placed a hand on Klaus's shoulder.  
"I was only meaning I've woken up a couple o' times bc you kicked me when we used to share the couch!"  
"That was on a couch, John! It's tiny!"  
Klaus turned to Paul. "Do you think this'll go on a while?"  
Paul shrugged. "This is new to me, but, looking at the nature of it--yes."  
There was the semi-distant sound of a pillow being thrown and Paul walked into the living room to have a seat on the couch, Klaus following.

* * *

  
"So, who's the new toy?"  
"Lennon, I swear,"  
"You know I'm only teasing!"  
"Yeah. But still,"  
"When did you meet? Or was this a spontaneous make-out session?" John was pinning George down and George tried to wrestle him to throw him off. Despite his thin nature, he was pretty strong.  
"We met a month ago!"  
"A month!"  
"Yeah!"  
"Why haven't I met 'em then?!"  
"Because!"  
"Because _why_?!"  
"Because he's a student!"  
John's body went slack, and George pinned him now.  
"Wasn't expecting that." John said quietly.  
"Just don't--go flailing it around okay?" George actually looked vulnerable, which he seldom did.  
A moment in which his powerful self-composure melted away. John had only seen it happen a handful of times.  
He dropped his guard. "Okay."  
"Good." George got off of John and sat on the edge of his bed.  
John put a hand on George's knee. "...You know I would never do anything to fuck up your life."  
George nodded.  
"At least intentionally." John added.  
George nudged him playfully.

* * *

  
The room was silent all except for the clock ticking on top of the television set.  
"So," Paul started to a silent Klaus.  
"So," Klaus echoed.  
"New York, huh?"  
"Yeah."  
"City of dreams and all that."  
"Indeed."  
"You from outta town?"  
"Yes."  
"Where?"  
"Hamburg Germany."  
"Wow. How long have you been here?"  
"About a year."  
"Well, I admire you for your dedication."  
"Thank you."  
"You sound like you're from around here."  
Paul laughed. "Well, actually, I'm not."  
"Oh?"  
"No, I'm from Arizona."  
"Wow. That's a ways."  
"It is, yeah."  
"Have you seen it snow here yet?"  
"No, I think I've missed it."  
"It seems to snow more in March than February."  
"I see."  
"Okay! The battle has been waged!" John grabbed a soda from the fridge and had a seat on the carpet next to the couch.  
George smiled as he re-entered and tucked some of his lengthy hair behind his ear as he sat next to Klaus. They held hands pleasantly.  
Paul looked down at the top of John's head.  
"Why don't you sit up here?" He asked.  
"Couches are for squares."  
"He's distancing himself, psychologically and physically." George said with a smirk.  
"Stay off my case, doc." John tossed George a playful glare.  
"Sure thing."  
John resumed sipping his ginger ale in peace when he heard George whisper to Paul.  
"Psst,"  
Paul turned his head, nodding.  
"He watches corny sitcoms."  
Paul smiled, trying to conceal his giggles.  
John rolled his eyes, whispering back to Paul.  
"Psst,"  
Paul nodded, turning to John now.  
"Yea?"  
"I sneak out to eat meat cos ponytail over here's vegetarian."  
George's eyes bulged. "You do?!"  
"Of course I do!" John laughed.  
John was concerned by the bashful look on Paul's face.  
"What's wrong?"  
"Well, uh, I'm a...vegetarian too."  
George howled with laughter and Klaus snorted.  
John laid down face-first on the floor, soda in hand.  
"You know when the police come they're gonna have a hard time tracing that can."  
"Shut up." John's voice was muffled into the floor.

* * *

  
Red was curled up on Paul's lap and George was cooking dinner in the kitchen. The tv was on, with some nonsensical cooking show drawling in the background.  
"John, c'mere an' help me set the table." George called.  
John huffed, hoisting himself up off the floor with a groan. "Okay,"  
George was wearing an apron bedecked in little paintings John had done. Most of them involved George gardening. He had been asked to decorate it a few months ago and George was quite proud of it.  
"Do we have two extra sets of silverware?" He asked John.  
John shrugged. "Hell if I know."  
"Well, check!"  
John looked in the silverware drawer and set out all of the needed pieces for their little group.  
"Can I go sit back down now?"  
"No. Dinner's ready."  
John sighed. "Okay." He sat in the little green booth by the window while George called Paul and Klaus in.  
They all ate and talked together, a few awkward silent moments thrown in. But all in all George would consider the evening a success.  
"I think I better head back, it's already quite cold out." Klaus said.  
"Okay, dear go ahead." George stood and walked him out, leaving Paul and John alone at the table.  
John cleared his throat and pushed a broccoli stem around on his plate.  
Paul chuckled. "So,"  
"So," John echoed.  
Paul noticed John looking down into his plate and he reached out, covering the top of his hand that held his fork with his own.  
"Listen,"  
John looked up at that.  
"I had a nice time."  
"Did you now?" John asked, a hint of laughter.  
"Yes."  
"So we're still on for breakfast then?"  
Paul laughed. "Sure."  
"Good."  
Paul stood and John followed. Paul looked at John a moment, both of them knowing what came next. John held his breath and closed his eyes and soon his lips carried the weight of the other man's. He could feel a little puff of hot air against his cheekbone and he buried a hand in Paul's dark hair. Paul whispered a little sound as John jerked away hearing George's shoes on the kitchen tile.  
"Oh, don't mind me." He said, beginning to clean off the stove.  
"You just had to make it come full circle didn't ya?" John asked. His cheeks were thoroughly pink.  
Paul held John's hand and swiped his thumb along the surface of his knuckles.  
"It's alright, John." He whispered.  
"I...I know that." He looked quickly over to Paul, seeming to grow even pinker.  
"C'mon, walk me out, yea?" Paul asked gently.  
"Okay."  
Paul was standing on the front porch, it was pitch dark out except for the porch light of the apartment, the bright lights of the city off in the distance.  
"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Paul pressed a kiss to John's cheek and hugged him tightly. "Get some sleep."  
John nodded. "Alright."  
He watched Paul walk away, his coat swaying in the frigid breeze. He started to turn to go back inside, but he was pulled back by the sound of Paul's voice.  
"John!"  
John turned, alarmed. "What?"  
"It's snowing!"  
"It is?!"  
John reached out from under the awning and felt the little flakes fall and melt in his hand.  
"Have you ever seen snow before?" John yelled back.  
"No!"  
John smiled widely. "Then congratulations!"  
"Thanks!"  
John shook his head, a little huff of an amused laugh leaving his lips as he shut the door behind him.


End file.
